


Return to Me

by ten10texas



Category: Fae & Fairies - Fandom, Faerie Folklore, Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Original Work
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22416484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ten10texas/pseuds/ten10texas
Summary: After somewhat more that a year of service, and one drunken kiss, Rowan leaves the fae and hides. Two years later, High Prince Fergal is at her doorstep with a warning and an offer.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 23





	1. Found

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this and want more, hit kudo or comment. It’s jet fuel for writers and this is my first original fic. Comments would be appreciated including critical ones.

Rowan arrived home and sighed with relief, as she did every time she stepped inside her homey cottage. Certainly she felt much the same relief everyone feels to be home, to be safe somewhere warm and welcoming, but this cottage was rather more than that. She'd designed and had it built to evade and repel the fae, right down to the studs made of ash, the whitewash laced with salt, and the whole thing built with pure iron nails.

The large garden she'd planted lushly with primrose, St. John's Wort, verbena, marsh marigolds, holly bushes, and, instead of grass, the lawn was a variety of clover bred to produce four leaves. Of course, there were rowan and ash trees in the yard. Around this lush garden was a tall fence made of ash and bound with iron, the gate entirely of iron and locking. The neighbors thought her an amiable eco-eccentric, her little house charming but certainly odd as the larger neighborhood tended toward giant houses with teeny yards and hers was the intentional reverse.

It was impossible to fully evade the fae even in a city, but you could pick the areas they'd be least likely to hunt or live. Her neighborhood sat well inside the city limits and close to many shops. Lot's of concrete and metal, a busy area, just the sort of place most fae would dislike. Not enough green for the nature fae and too tidy, new, and busy for the goblins, no bridges or culverts for the trolls, no large sewers, nothing that would attract any fae type she knew of and much to repel them. Not least of all the scent of her garden on the wind—it would be the equivalent to a pig farm and a raging dumpster fire to the fae, though it smelled clean and pleasant to her. Like home and like safety.

After hanging her coat then taking off her boots, she put the kettle on and started a fire in the grate. Once the tea was made, she curled into her comfy leather chair by the fire for a rest before dinner. Cold outside, unseasonably so, though not so unseasonably that she had certain reason to worry. Besides, it had been a little more than two years now. Rowan sighed as she sipped her tea and settled in to read as Carbon, her huge black cat, leapt up, settled into her lap and began to purr.

The rattle of ice against the window woke her to a fire burned down to nothing but red coals and the howl of the wind down the chimney. Tomorrow's walk to the subway station would be absolute misery, and the subways were sure to be packed. Maybe she'd call a Lyft. She couldn't call in, not unless she was dead. Randy was on vacation which had her as head pastry chef.

As she began to drift back to sleep, Carbon leapt off her lap and started crying.

“Fine, beast, I'll feed you. Not that you need to be fed.”

The cat wended around her ankles as she headed into the kitchen to make dinner for them both. First she opened a can of food for the cat, then she poked around in the fridge and decided she'd make some kind of soup, something hearty with the leftover ham as a base and plenty of potatoes and onions. Looking out through the window, she thought she noticed a faint tracing of blue in the sky but racked it up to fear. How many times now had she thought he'd come for her and it been nothing? It was probably nothing again.

Just to be sure, she pulled up the security cameras on her laptop—nothing, just as she thought, nothing from every angle. Probably he'd grown bored after a few months and quit looking, or maybe he'd never looked. She'd fulfilled her contract and left. Granted, she'd left while he was away, but the contract had been fulfilled, more than fulfilled, and he'd made no attempt to make another deal with her before he left. Probably he never even looked.

Snow now, falling in huge fat flakes. It was beautiful in the glow of the security light outside her window. Maybe a few weeks early, but weather was unpredictable. The storm seemed to be calmer, quieter, dying down maybe. Still going to have to get the roof looked at with that ice and the way the wind had sounded.

Rowan chopped the vegetables as the ham and spices began to simmer. Maybe some cookies to go with it? Once she finished and added the vegetables, she took out the dough she'd made earlier in the week, rolled it out, cut it into stars and moons, then sprinkled the cookies with demerara sugar and set them to bake. Next was coffee to go with the cookies.

She added a shot of whiskey to the coffee and then cream, then plated up a couple of the warm cookies and sat down in the kitchen to wait for the soup. Carbon hopped up on the table, sauntered to the window and sat watching the snow fall, her tail lashing in agitation. Maybe she spotted a squirrel? Rowan sipped her coffee, strong and pitch black, then took a bite of one of the cookies.

The security system sent a notification to her phone. She stared at the image--he stood outside her gate, his long white hair blowing in the winter wind, pale skin glimmering in the last rays of the falling sun against the midnight of his rich black robes. And armor, he was wearing his black chairmail armor. Of course he was, right here on a busy city street, probably glamoured but not definitely—he had no fear of human eyes. It was him, the security feed showed his face clearly, the angled severe beauty of it, the mouth lovely but too wide, and then the eyes, a brilliant unnatural blue.

High Prince Fergal. Her former “owner.” She'd been a gift from his brother who'd tricked her into a year of service because Fergal liked her cookies enough to purchase them daily for a month. That's all it took, apparently, to justify tricking her into a year of indentured servitude as opposed to the personal chef job she thought she was taking. At least Fergal had paid her really well and in actual money.

Fergal was not terrible, at least to her, but he was definitely not human. A deep ambivalence filled her, and she refused to look too closely at it. Besides, trying to figure out his motives and feelings was a waste of time. She left. She decided to leave. He was here and somehow she needed to get rid of him. That was challenge enough without digging up the past.

She pulled on her snow pants, boots, heavy jacket and gloves, pulled a hat on her head and then added charms and a pouch of dried four leaf clovers to her pocket. After wiping a bit of St. John's Wort extract under her nose, she went to the kitchen then walked out to talk to the fae that had once owned her.

She walked to the fence and opened the inner wooden door to see him through the ornate ironwork of the gate. For a moment, he simply gazed at her, the intensity in his eyes disturbing. Then he bowed in his restrained manner and said, “My Rose Red, how good it is to see you again.”

“I am not yours, High Prince Fergal, but I offer you food and drink as a courtesy. I would invite you in, but sadly my home has been built poorly for the fae. Human work.”

Carefully she opened the iron door—the iron frame would keep him from crossing—and gingerly offered him the tray of food and drink.

“How courteous you are, my Rose,” he said with some definite irony, “but I did not come here for such refreshment. Let us go for a walk, you and I.”

“Oh, if only I might! I have cookies in the oven even now and must return to them or they will burn.”

“Perhaps tomorrow then?” He said with patient good humor.

“Who knows what tomorrow might bring, and I have learned about making promises to the fae.”

His eyes snapped with anger, but he spoke calmly, “Rowan, my brother is very close to finding you.”

“Why would Fionn be looking for me?”

He sighed in irritation, as if she were asking him something that should be utterly obvious, “You are unbound to me.”

That was as clear as mud. “I fulfilled the contract. I even stayed an extra two months. I have done all I agreed to do. I wouldn't have been able to leave if I hadn't.”

“Yes. You are unbound to me. That is what I said.”

“I do not want to make another contract with the fae.”

Now he looked angry, “And I do not offer such!”

“Fergal, if you don't want a contract what do you want?”

He blushed, faint blue under his pale skin up to the tip of his elegantly pointed ears. “I wish to bind you to me.”

“By a deal, a deal by the way I have zero intention of agreeing to,” Rowan shivered—it was freezing out here and this was going nowhere.

He removed his cloak and stepped past the gate to sling it around her and whisper a quick spell. Instantly, she was warmer, if far more afraid.

“I am a prince. Your monstrosity does not give you the protection you imagine. Oh, it is proof against the lesser fae, perhaps even some of the greater, but any of the inner court? No. The smell is foul, and there is a bit of nausea, a headache, but it can be endured. You are not safe here.”

Rowan stepped back, fear and shock leading her to do the only thing she could think of—run to her cottage. She arrived there, slammed and locked the door, and then stood against the wall panting in fear. A knock came, and the ridiculous notion of asking, “Who's there?” came to mind leading her to laugh briefly before realizing she was well and truly screwed. He was really outside her door. This was really happening. It felt like the moment you knew a car crash was inevitable, but it hadn't happened yet, a moment of unreality before the pain.

“Rowan. Please open the door. I do not wish to continue to speak to you through it.”

“No.”

A sigh then, “Very well. After you left, I found you almost immediately and hid you from my brother. Your life, such as it is, grieved me but it was the one you chose.”

“Grieved _**you**_? You think I like hiding? My family thinks I have some kind of grudge I won't discuss because I haven't visited them in over three years and won't tell them where I am. I've lost all but my best friend who thinks I have some type of agoraphobia. I hate how small my life is now, how small you fae have made it.”

Silence. “If you return with me I can give you my full protection. You may visit your family, have some of the life you wish.”

“If I bind myself to you.”

“No. Not yet. Not if you do not choose to do so.”

“I don't understand. All this for some cookies? I'll bake you all the cookies you want and mail them to you every day.”

A bark of laughter, “Cookies? You think this is for your baking?”

“What else could you want from me?”

“For now I merely wish to know you are safe.”

Rowan stood, unlocked the front door and said, “There's no point is there?”

He stepped inside and winced, “Never have I felt a dwelling more inimical to my kind. I suppose some sort of congratulations are in order. Well done.”

“I wish I'd known how to do it better,” she said and walked into the living room to perch in her chair next to the nearly dead fire.

He chuffed a laugh as he followed, looking ridiculous, beautiful, and threatening all at once, like some sort of cosplayer that had gotten entirely too fanatical. The Uncanny Valley of robotics—he looked too close to human for it to be anything but disturbing no matter how lovely. Alien. The way he moved, too graceful for a man of his size, and as if he had slightly different joints. His hair looked like some kind of gorgeous wig, no one had hair that pure of a white, and no one had streaks of what looked like actual silver in their hair.

He tasted sweet, a little like chai tea maybe, something sweet with a hint of strange spices, his mouth had been delicious. That one drunken kiss, the night he pulled her from a party in the human quarter like she'd done something wrong, the night before he left for war and decided to, what, experiment a little? What had he said? Something about knowing and stealing and she'd been too drunk and angry to listen him and then he'd shocked her by kissing her, and not gently either. She knew what he tasted like and tried not to think about that when he sat down and smiled at her with his overly sharp teeth.

Didn't seem real, so she'd fall back on manners at least until this assumed enough reality for her to be able to think, “Would you care for some tea and cookies, or perhaps some cold milk or lemonade?”

He leaned forward, “Yes. It will be like the afternoons we spent together. Yes, anything like to what you gave me then would be most pleasant.”

What an odd wording. His library was simply amazing, possibly her favorite place in the mansion. Every afternoon during the lull between lunch and dinner preparation she read there. When he was home, he did the same and so she brought a snack for both of them. It was as simple as that. Hardly something she gave him.

“I'll be right back,” Stupid. Did she think he needed reassurance she wouldn't flee him? Well, maybe. She would if she could.

“Yes, to get those cookies I do not smell baking,” he said with bitter amusement.

She paused, “I shouldn't have lied to you, I”

“Yes, yes. You're human. You were afraid,” his voice positively dripped with bitterness now and she felt stung by it, and angry.

Turning back to him she lifted her chin and then stopped. He was in her house. He looked at her calmly but he was in her house. He could do anything, anything at all.

Sorrow on his face, “Rowan, please,”

“I'll get the refreshments.”

Don't think about it, just survive. That's how she got through that year and that's how she'd get through this. Focus on each step, step by step. Coffee for her, straight up and as strong as she could make it. For him? She opened the fridge. There was still some strawberry cake left over and he definitely liked that. Half and half in a thin stone cup would be his preference, but he'd have to settle for the bowl to her mortar and pestle set. A spiteful part of her considered putting it in plastic, something bright and gaudy, but she discarded the notion as rude. Finally, she settled on a bamboo tray with a plate of the freshly baked sugar cookies, a large slice of the strawberry cake, and the granite bowl with a ceramic pitcher of organic half and half.

She walked into the living room to find him adding wood to the fire. With a wave of his hand, it sparked to life and began to blaze merrily, spreading warmth and color around the room. So convenient. She did miss that. How easy everything was with magic, and the perfectly clean air. It hadn't been bad exactly, just she never forgot she was tricked, that she wasn't free, and that she was so terribly vulnerable.

He sat down and smiled, a genuine happy smile, “My favorite. You remembered.”

Strange the things that pleased him. Such simple things. “I knew you liked the strawberry cake, I didn't know it was your favorite.”

“Of the cakes, yes.”

She watched as he brought the first bite to his lips, grimaced and said, “You used a machine for this.”

Oh, his odd requirement she use her bare hands when making food for him. She resisted the urge to apologize and said, “The cookies are made by hand.”

He set aside the cake and lifted one of the cookies to his mouth, and she found herself wondering how his mouth might taste after eating one. His lips had been soft, not the kiss, but his lips had been.

Stupid. He'd been drunk and she'd been handy.

“Delicious,” he said, and his voice was throaty and raw, “So delicious.” He looked up at her, his eyes half lidded with pleasure and the blue positively glowing with intensity. “How I have longed for that taste again.”

“They're just sugar cookies.”

“Yes,” he said, “made with your hands,” then seemed to look at her as if she should get some meaning from that.

She looked at him blankly and thought to offer to make him all the cookies he wanted again, but he'd already claimed he wasn't here for her baking. But then he has this, this, _**reaction**_ to her baking. What was she supposed to think?

He watched her for a moment, then sighed, “If you return to my estate with me, I can keep you safe there. All will believe I have contracted you to my service and so you will have protection under fairy law.”

“As property.”

“If you do not wish to bind yourself to me, it is the only other option.”

“I don't get the difference.”

Again he looked at her as if she were dense, then said with an annoyed huff, “One is temporary, the other is permanent. One is between owner and owned, the other is as equals.”

“Equals? How could I ever be your equal? I'm human.”

“You would have a part of my power, and would be as I am in many ways. You would be a princess in the court of the Seelie.”

“I've never heard of any deal like that. Why would you do that?”

He stood and angrily said, “Cease to call this a deal! I offer you my heart, freely, as I did once before, and yet you insult me at every turn!”

“Your heart? When did you offer me your heart?”

“Every time I ate your food I took a little of your humanity into me, a little of you. Why did you think I asked you to make it with your own hands?”

“You didn't ask me....” she trailed off. Yes. He had asked. He _**always**_ asked. She thought he was just being polite, that the requests were velvet orders.

“I did! I am not this monster you have made me! I am not! Never have I acted in any way to merit this,” he spread out his hands to encompass the cottage, “as if I had treated you like the very worst of the Unseelie treat those humans unfortunate enough to encounter them. I could not void my brother's contract, would that I could have! I thought to court you slowly, in the human world. My dread nigh choked me when he gifted you to me, that and anger at his pleasure at my predicament. Should I refuse, I left you to his cruelties. Should I accept, I became your master. You would hate me either way, how could you not? But when you stayed well past the end of the contract I hoped. Until I saw you drunken in a human's arms. I knew then that whatever your reasons, you did not stay for me. I stole a kiss because I knew you would never grant me one willingly,” he laughed bitterly, “And now my brother forces my hand yet again and I offer you what I know you will not have.”

“How much of your power?”

“What?”

“If I bound myself to you, how much of your power would you give me?”

His eyes narrowed and he said, “How romantic. This is exactly how I hoped I might discuss binding with my beloved.”

“You don't love me, you can't love me. Fae don't,”

“Fae love _**rarely**_.”

Rowan looked at him and wondered if she ever really saw him before, or if she just saw what she was expecting to see. Fae definitely didn't lie. That was a universally agreed upon trait. He was in love with her. The Fae version of love, but in love with her. That was, she wasn't sure how she felt about it. Safer. Curious. He was so beautiful. Powerful.

He rubbed his head and then said, “And I _**hate**_ this wretched dwelling you have made! My head pounds as if all the devils of your human hell sought exit.”

“Ok, I'll go with you. Just, give me a little while to pack.”

He looked surprised, then nodded, “There is little you need bring. But if you wish I can transport all of it to my estate. Were this dwelling anything _**normal,**_ I could transport it as well.”

“No, I just want to take a few family things.”

He rubbed his temples again, then said, “If you might make haste, I would be most appreciative.”

Honestly, it probably made her something of an asshole, but she felt rather proud of how her little cottage affected him. It hadn't kept him out, but it had made him miserable and that was something. He'd endured misery for her, to speak with her. Knocked when he could have simply broken open the door and taken her somewhere far less awful for him. He asked. He always had. She just hadn't noticed.


	2. Truth Between Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this and want more, hit kudo or comment. It’s jet fuel for writers and this is my first original fic. Comments would be appreciated including critical ones.

Since she already had a go bag full of basics, it was easy to pack quickly. She returned to the living room and he stood then took her bag and Carbon's cat crate. Ok, She was really doing this. It was perhaps insane, but she was doing this. Maybe, on the other side of it, she could see her family again and have enough power to no longer be afraid. Clearly the fae weren't going to leave her alone, so she'd see if she could somehow carve out a place for herself. Immortality, would that be part of this binding as well? It was worth finding out.

“I can not transport you from within this vile dwelling. Come.”

“Why not?”

He turned to look at her, one brow arched, “What?”

“Why can't you? You lit the fire.”

“It took ten times the energy to do it, a foolish waste but you were cold.”

Rowan felt a surge of guilt and tamped it down, “So, the cottage affects you but,”

He sighed and said, “There is no dwelling you can construct that can keep out a Prince of any of the Courts. Even were you to stab my heart with an iron blade, I would recover.”

“I don't plan to stab you, I just want to understand.”

“Might we speak of this elsewhere? Is there ought else you need from this place?”

“No, I suppose not.”

She hesitated, looked around the cottage that she'd considered safe. Wrongly, but it had been home and she didn't know what would come next. Different this time, this time she was choosing to go, sort of. Did it count as choosing when you picked it as the least bad thing available?

Fergal came closer to her, gazed down at her with his strange eyes and said softly, “Will you come with me, Rowan?”

She nodded, suddenly at a loss for words, and he led her from the cottage, pausing only to allow her to lock the door. Once outside, he set down Carbon's crate and said, “You and your cat may feel some nausea when I transport you. It will pass quickly. Ready?”

Oh, he was going to use the Fae Ways. “Is that safe?”

“With me, yes. It would be better if you held your cat, if you think he will tolerate it.”

“Probably not, he hates car rides.”

At that he laughed, “This is rather more than a car ride. Very well.”

He removed a small purse from inside his cloak and opened it, “I'll put your things and your cat in here. I suppose, if you wish, you may travel in here as well.”

Rowan eyed the purse. No way was she getting in there, not by choice. “No, thank you.”

Fergal smiled in appreciation, a rather wolfish smile, “Good. You have a degree of caution.”

Suddenly, her things shrunk, Carbon's cat carrier and Carbon with it. Fergal bent over and tucked them carefully into the purse then snapped it shut. Tucking it into his cloak, he faced her.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

He stepped forward and enveloped her in his arms, pressed her tightly against his body, his armor cold against her cheek, “Press closer to me, the closer the better. Keep your eyes closed, it will help.”

She did as he asked, twining her arms around him and pressing against him. What was that scent, like vanilla, spices, something of a bakery scent but utterly male? Heat flushed through her as she remembered last he held her like this and how good he'd tasted. She felt him kiss the top of her head, then a jerking, as if she was being pulled apart but there was no pain, sort of like a ride that suddenly drops, or the worst kind of turbulence on a plane. Nausea, her head spun, she was tempted to open her eyes so she could see what only the fae were meant to see but she'd heard the Fae Ways could drive a human insane with one glimpse and so she resisted.

“Nearly there,” he murmured against her ear, then kissed her cheek, “you are safe. Do not be afraid.”

“Can I look?”

“Not yet. If you become bound to me, yes. But for now, no.”

“I'll go insane? Die?”

He laughed, “Certainly not, not with me. Were it so, I would not have taken the Fae Ways-- I know human curiosity all too well. Nay, you would neither die nor lose your mind, but you would vomit uncontrollably for quite some time. Your eyes are not equipped to see in this realm.”

“I wish they were. For both realms.”

He said nothing. Rowan was glad he said nothing because she'd reveled too much with that statement, how she'd found the world of the fae beautiful, fascinating, enthralling enough that she'd stayed months past her contract despite the danger, despite all the stories she'd heard in the human quarter, the occasional disappearance, the knowledge that without a contract she really had no protection.

But then he'd kissed her, and he'd been so angry about it. It was universally acknowledged among humans that angering a fae was incredibly dangerous. Their romantic interest was dangerous as well, and she'd inexplicably become the object of both for a Prince of the Court.

The jerking and pulling stopped, and she leaned against him, her head spinning.

“We're here.”

She couldn't speak for fear she'd start vomiting, couldn't even open her eyes for the same reason. Breathing deeply, she concentrated on not vomiting. He held her up, began gently smoothing her hair as he whispered a spell against her hair. Warmth spread through her body, and a languor that was pleasant. The nausea receded slowly and she mostly just felt exhausted, like she'd worked all day, and worked hard.

“Better?”

“Yes, I'm just tired now.”

“Then rest.”

The room was stone, huge but still somehow felt homey, lived in. A fire roared in the ornate stone fireplace, carved dragons on either side of the mantle and a vine of carved honeysuckle twining up either side, so perfectly carved it lacked only color to seem real. The walls were hung with tapestries depicting scenes she had no reference for, maybe moments from fae history? Beautiful, achingly so, but definitely not human. Moonlight came in though a large stone archway that led out to a balcony. Through the glass paned doors, she could see snow falling in light flurries, though it was perfectly warm in the room. Comfortable. This room was comfortable. There were a pair of leather chairs before the fire, a matching settee against the wall. On a dais, a large unmade bed slung with a variety of velvet comforters in jewel tones. A large wardrobe, next to that a weapons rack, racks of armor.

“This is your room, isn't it?”

“It is. Yours as well, if you wish.”

He guided her toward the bed, and before she could say anything, lifted her onto it then stood waiting, watching her. When she said nothing, he walked over to the area where his armor was and removed his cloak, hung it, and then his chain mail, putting it on form and casting a spell of some sort over it. He pulled his tunic over his head, then removed his boots and turned to walk back to her wear nothing but his shirt and pants. Nothing revealing about it, but she'd never seen him in less than his robes and this felt very intimate.

It was warm in this room, too warm for her to sleep in her thick jacket and snow pants, but she really didn't want to send the wrong message. Still, he was beautiful, mesmerizing by the firelight. She hadn't ever really looked at him before, not like this, not like a person.

He stopped poured himself a glass of some clear brown liquid, then said, “I only have liquor here suitable for the fae, but I can conjure whatever you wish.”

“Hot chocolate, please.”

He smiled, then with a wave of his hand a mug of hot chocolate appeared on the nightstand next to the bed.

“I have some reading to do, but please feel free to rest. I will join you later, if you wish, or I may sleep elsewhere.”

“These are your rooms.”

“They are.”

“Shouldn't I be the one to sleep elsewhere then?”

He sat languidly in front of the fire, his long legs out in front of him. Muscular, she hadn't realized how lithe and well shaped he was under his robes. It made sense; he was renowned as a warrior.

“I prefer you in my bed,” his voice grew husky at that, his eyes filled with such heat, “even if I am not permitted to join you.”

What would it be like to go to bed with the Winter Prince? The thought came into her head unbidden. His reputation among humans was for fair dealing, cold but fair. He never took human lovers and never used trickery. But still, fae were dangerous, their romantic attention was dangerous.

His lips twisted into a crooked bitter smile, “I am not permitted then. Still, my bed will hold your scent. Stay.”

She slipped out of the bed and removed her gloves, boots, then her snow pants, the jacket, until she was just in her jeans and a t-shirt. Grabbing the mug of hot chocolate, she joined him by the fire sitting in the chair opposite his.

“I had no idea you felt anything for me.”

He looked up from his reading, “How is that possible?”

“What?”

He set aside his book and leaned forward, “I was obvious in my regard for you.”

“I really don't know what you're talking about aside from that kiss,”

“Your quarters, the gifts I gave you right before you left, the many attempts to engage you in conversation, attempts you consistently rebuffed. That I asked you to make my food, and only my food, with your own hands. That I made you food with my own hands on occasion. Within the limits of my brother's wretched contract, I made my regard for you utterly foolishly clear.”

“Everyone has nice quarters here, and I thought the gifts were, I don't know, but I didn't think it was because you were interested in me. I guess I thought it was a bonus for staying past my contract. I didn't know about the food, I guess I just thought it was a fae thing maybe. I didn't think about it, I was just trying to,”

She halted.

“Go on. Finish what you were about to say.”

“Survive. I was trying to survive.”

He sat back with a sigh, “Of course you were.” He looked at her curiously, “You truly had no idea of my regard for you?”

“None.”

He laughed then, “I thought I was so obvious.”

“Maybe to a fae, but not to a human.”

“Did you not speak of this household with the humans in the quarter? Surely they would have known the signs?”

“Of course not! There's no way I was taking a chance of anything I said being a secret or somehow offending you. Humans and fae asked me so many questions I became suspicious of it so I said nothing, absolutely nothing about living here to anyone. Not one word, nothing. They decided I was under some sort of spell and left me alone eventually.”

At that he laughed uproariously, “No wonder the rumor of my heart being engaged by a human under contract to me never took root at court! Oh, my brother must have been so displeased at your discretion, and yet he could do nothing about it. He set a trap I could not resist, and you rendered it moot with your wisdom.” He smiled at her fondly, his eyes warm and caring.

“I'm glad it worked out, but won't this be a scandal too?”

He sat back, surprised, “You truly know nothing, do you? What exactly did you read in the library?”

“All kinds of things. But, no, I didn't spend my free time studying fae politics. I don't even care about human politics.”

“Very well. No, it is no scandal to court or bond with a human. But to do so with one under contract, yes, very much so, at least among the Seelie. It is a question of free choice. My brother ascertained, correctly, that I would struggle to resist you despite the contract. I stayed away as often and as long as I could, and was ever so thankful you had worded your contract so that you were chef for my entire staff. I moved every retainer, every servant I could to this estate so I might occupy your time as much as possible but not to a point you would feel abused and resent me. Still, I could not resist making my regard known. I wanted you to know I cared for you, that you need not fear me. Once your contract was up, and you stayed of you own free will, I became bolder. But it was then that my wretched brother contrived to occupy my time with every sort of political difficulty, even going so far as to manipulate the court into war.”

“War? That seems extreme just keep you from courting me.”

He sat, clearly thinking, examining her almost. Then he sighed, “Rowan, forgive me, but humans are known to lie and I would know the truth between us. I would ask you to drink a potion that will compel you to speak the truth. It will not compel you to speak, but if you do speak it will require the truth. Would you allow me this?”

“If you drink it too, yes.”

His eyebrows raised and she thought she saw respect as well as amusement in his eyes, “Fae can not lie, but that is a wise thing to ask when so much about us is fable and half truth. Yes, I will.”

He left briefly and returned with two vials of a green liquid. He handed her one.

“Wait. Give it to me.”

“Why?”

“I'm going to mix them, you drink half, then I'll drink half.”

“As you wish,” he positively grinned then, his too sharp teeth glinting in the firelight, and handed her the vial.

She poured them both into his empty glass, swirled the liquids together. They looked the same and had a faintly green scent to them, like a forest after a rain. Probably going to taste awful.

“Do these have any side effects on humans? What effects will they have on you, both intentional and accidental. How long do the effects last?”

“You are quite careful, Rowan. I appreciate that. No side effects on humans. The potions will have no effect on me as fae are already compelled to tell the truth by their own nature. For five questions.”

“You first,” she handed him the glass.

He tipped it to her with a smirk, then drank half of it and handed it back to her.

She swirled it and hesitated then drank. It tasted fine, not gross but certainly not delicious either. Nothing happened. She felt exactly the same.

With a smile he faced her, “Do you find me attractive?”

She meant to say, “I'm getting to know you.” But what came out was, “Yes, definitely. I like your hair, it looks soft and is absolutely beautiful. You're in good shape. The way you move is a little creepy—it's really obvious you're not human but I'm getting used to it. Your eyes are beautiful but again not human. I'm fascinated by you now, but before I just thought of you are the fae that owned me. You were the Winter Prince to me. Now, I don't know.”

“Do you fear me?”

Rowan glared at him and said, “You are making me angry.”

He laughed, then said, “As you wish.” He sobered, “Do you know why my brother would seek to prevent our bonding?”

“No. Why would he care?”

Fergal sighed, then sat back, “Answer me a few more questions, if you would.”

“Fine,” she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Did you truly not know of my regard?”

“I did not. I still find it hard to believe.”

He nodded, “Why did you return with me then?”

“It seemed like the least bad option. I'd done everything I knew to protect myself and hide and it counted for nothing more than a headache to you. You could have just grabbed me and forced me, but you asked. I thought you might be telling the truth and I definitely didn't want to wait around for your brother to show up. I missed my parents, and I missed the fae realm too, and maybe if I went with you I could see my parents again and have enough power to be safe around the fae. Maybe I could have some kind of actual life. I took a chance.”

He spoke softly, to himself, “An honest human, how rare.” He looked up at her and said, “Aside from the cookies, you spoke honestly with me. Very well. I will answer any five questions you ask honestly and completely.”

“Why five?”

He arched a brow, “Do you really wish to spend a question on that?”

“Fine. It's some weird fae thing then. Ok. Why do you love me?”

“I could simply say, 'I don't know; such things are unexplainable for all who love,' but I will answer the intent behind your question. My brother regaled me with tales of a pale flame haired maiden who baked like a goddess. He'd planned to woo you himself, and I decided to see this human for myself. You were as lovely as he described, and I pitied you that you had attracted his gaze. As I was hungry, I ordered a couple of pastries and a coffee. You plated them, made the coffee yourself and when I sat down to eat, I tasted you and I felt something. You tasted of kindness, goodness, but it was more. I could not understand it. I returned the next day, lingered and watched you, and the next, every day for 37 days. I was a fool to be so obvious but I thought my brother had lost interest.”

“I don't remember anyone coming every day for 37 days. I'd have noticed that, especially if they hung out.”

“I wore a different glamour each day and then masked my presence so I might stay and watch you. You were fair, kind, intelligent, hard working, skilled, I fell in love with you and did not know how to proceed. Unlike my brother, I avoided liaisons with humans. They always seemed to end so badly for the human and it seemed an ill-fated thing to attempt. And yet I longed for you more with each day, the hints of you in your food just enough to whet my appetite but not enough to satisfy it. I decided to court you in the human world, and selected a glamour close to my actual appearance. Then, you disappeared and I was frantic to find you. I cast and found you at my brother's keep. The rest you know.”

She thought. Four more questions. “How does binding work?”

“If you fall in love with me and wish to spend immortality with me, we would be bound. My soul is already bound to yours, but yours is not bound to mine. You would wish to be bound to me, truly, and it would be so. It is not a thing that can be forced, not even by you.”

“What would happen to me if I bound myself to you?”

“You would share all that I have, my power, my position, my wealth. If you allowed, we would have children, as many as you desired. You would be subject to the Court but I would protect you until you learned to use your power. My own power would increase once we were bound and I would assume the role of heir designate—next in line for the throne. My true nature would be evident to all, that I am of the Seelie and not the Winter Prince.” The last was said with some bitterness.

“I thought the name was because of your weather magic and your silver hair and pale skin.”

He looked incredulous, “You did not know it was an insult?”

“No. It's just what I'd heard people call you. In the Quarter you have a reputation for being fair and honest, not misleading or taking advantage of humans. As much as they trust or like any fae, they like and trust you.”

“Ah. Among the Seelie it is assuredly an insult. A reference to my Unseelie blood and that I supposedly take after my father in far more than appearance. Few have said it to my face, and none now live with the courage or foolishness to do so.”

Yeah, she'd heard the Winter Prince was deadly in a duel. He did not provoke fights, but if insulted or antagonized he ended then with a cold brutal efficiency. Two more questions.

“Why was your brother seeking me?”

“Many reasons. To hurt me, to punish you, to prevent me from becoming the heir. Because it would amuse him. I suspect he wants you for himself, not as part of a plan, but simple attraction. This he fears and resists as weakness. He would hurt you, though he would be unlikely to grant you death.”

That was utterly terrifying. Last question. There was so much she wanted to ask him, but one thing she supposed she really needed to know.

“Are you going to hurt me or allow me to be hurt or give me to another to be hurt or by your inaction or action allow or cause me to be hurt in any way that I or any other would define as hurt?

He stood looking down at her thoughtfully, then knelt before her and took her hand, “You are my love. No, I will not intentionally hurt you or allow you to be hurt by my deliberate action or inaction. I can not swear to never hurt you unintentionally, as such is beyond my ability. I do swear that I will protect you from all harm with all the power at my disposal.”

“May I have one more question?”

He gazed at her, then said softly, “Ask.”

“What will you do if I don't fall in love with you, if I decide to leave?”

“I will protect you as best I can, much as I have done for the last two years.”

“One more?”

He laughed, “You are greedy. Yes.”

“Is the binding done with sex?”

His eyes gleamed, and he smiled, “No. It is not so simple as that, or as accidental. It is a choice. You are free to bed me, or not, as you please.”

She nodded. The way he was looking at her made it clear which one he preferred. He was so strange, so beautiful. Before that stupid contract she'd had a boyfriend and regular sex. During she'd had nothing, not trusting anyone enough to let them in her bed. With glamour and magic you really didn't know if what you thought you were screwing was really what you were screwing--she'd heard more than one story of a human bedding what they thought was another human only for it to be a fae straight out of a nightmare. Nope. After, well, her life was complicated. It had been a while.

He leaned in towards her, his face inches from hers. He smelled good, Jesus, so good. Better even than when he had brought her here.

“Why do you smell so good?”

He laughed and leaned in closer, “You smell amazing to me as well. I will answer your last unspoken question. Should you allow me, I will take whatever you are willing to give me, but no more.”

His lips hovered over hers and she closed the gap to kiss him, desire outweighing that part of her mind warning her that this was probably a terrible idea.


	3. A Potentially Foolish Choice

If you like this and want more, hit kudo or comment. It’s jet fuel for writers and this is my first original fic. Comments would be appreciated including critical ones.

His lips were as soft as she remembered, but this time instead of crushing her to him he stilled and allowed her to kiss him, let her run her fingers through his hair that was as soft, no, softer than it looked. She ran her fingertips along his bladed cheekbones and he watched her, his skin so smooth it felt like warm silk, or like soft marble, if a statue could come to life and be warm and soft and so utterly perfectly smooth. She felt like some rough creature compared to him but then he sighed with such utter satisfaction and wound his arms around her ever so gently, so carefully, and held her with the lightest of holds and kissed her ever so gently, closed mouth, chaste and sweet.

She pushed him back and he withdrew, disappointment on his face until she stood and offered him her hand then led him wordlessly to the bed.

“Know this, I will take what you are willing to give,” his voice was a husky growl, hungry.

“Will you stop if I ask?”

Fergal nodded and moved to kneel in the bed. There among the jewel tone velvets he shone like a male Pygmalion, pale and perfect, his eyes the burning blue of a gas flame in a black room, brighter, more intense blue than before. Thunder crashed and she looked through the window to see lightening branch across the sky.

“Join me,” his voice had a note of command mixed with pleading, as if one could both beg and order at the same time and be both master and slave.

She hesitated and he waited, watching. What would he do if she did not join him? Ah, but she wanted to join him, very much. Both curiosity and desire prompted her to crawl onto the bed and kneel facing him.

He undid her hair, letting it cascade free down her back, “Had I made a contract with you, I would have required you to never cut your hair and never restrain it, my Rose Red. So beautiful, like the feathers of a phoenix, living flames in my hands.”

“Is my hair color why you call me Rose Red?”

“Partly. There is an old story of a human girl. I will tell it to you some time. Two years I have dreamed of that one kiss, and now I have you willing in my bed story telling is not my desire.”

He leaned in to kiss her and this time he kissed her deeply, his tongue tasting of something like cardamon, cinnamon, some sort of unknown baking spice perfect for cold weather sweets, so good she groaned at the flavor and found herself pressing against him. He deepened the kiss, laying her back onto the bed. Unhurried but so hungry, he kissed her breathless then paused to kiss her throat, to lick and suck at it, and then to bite her, not hard but enough to make her keen with pleasure.

“So good, you taste so god, gods, you are so soft, so sweet. Such temptation.” Satisfaction shown on his face as he gazed down on her, his lips slightly swollen with kissing, hair beautifully mussed and falling around them both.

He sat up and pulled his linen shirt over his head to reveal a muscular torso that was subtly different from a human male's. Fascinated, Rowan sat up and traced her hands over his skin. He was lean, very low body fat but without the prominent veins she'd seen in similarly muscular men at the gym. Again, she thought of a living statue, all smoothness but supple, warm, and covered in the softest skin. His muscles were subtly different, the structure and where they attached to the bones different. His nipples were small, pale, and tinged slight blue like the few veins she could see under his skin. Hairless, but there was no way of knowing if that was natural or if he had removed it.

"You have extra ribs," she said with a laugh as she traced them.

"I do not, I have the same number as any of my kind and rank," he said with an arched brow, his voice amused.

She smiled, then stilled as he grasped the bottom edge of her tshirt and said, "May I look as well?"

"Yes," and then she pulled it over her head and, feeling both shy and brave, reached back and removed her bra.

His eyes fairly glowed in the low light as he watched her, "So beautiful."

As she had explored him, he explored her, laying her down as he murmured his appreciation, "So soft," he kissed and licked down her chest, over to her breasts, "You taste so very good, of life and hope, kindness. Sweet.”

His tongue was slightly raspy, not quite like a cat, but enough to add an extra note of stimulation when he licked over her nipple and then nipped the hard peak lightly. She arched off the bed and he chuckled, “Sensitive, mmm, such delights I have in store for one so quick to pleasure.”

He kissed down to her belly then looked at her as he unbuttoned her jeans and pulled down the zipper. All she felt was want, desire, it overpowered any part of her that warned her. She lifted her hips for him to pull them down and then kicked them the rest of the way off.

“And these?” He hooked a long slim finger around the edge of her underwear.

“Off,” again, she lifted her hips in answer, “and yours as well.”

His smile became a feral grin, “As you wish,”

He slid her underwear off then stepped off the bed, undid the buttons to his pants and stood before her pale and naked, his penis jutting up against his belly. It was thick, similar to a well endowed man's but nearly as pale as the rest of him, tinted slightly blue as his nipples. The head was far less pronounced than in a human and there was no hair at the base at all, and apparently no testicles. He looked not unlike Michelangelo's David, if a less human version, but equally pale and perfect, not a mark, not a scar. Not human, she was reminded, and she shivered in desire, fear, nervousness, some combination of them.

Something dark, predatory, moved through his eyes and he growled, “Come to the edge of the bed.”

Her heart pounded, she felt like she wanted to flee and so she froze. This had been insanity. What had she been thinking?

He came to the edge of the bed and chuckled darkly, “Are you afraid, my Rose?” Thunder sounded and the windows rattled as the storm raged outside, lightening branching across the sky, “Will you flee me?”

“Would you let me?”

A consideration, “If I thought that was what you truly wanted, yes.” He moved, suddenly above her so fast it seemed he simply appeared, and perhaps he did—he was magical, powerfully magical. He held her hands pinned above her head one handed as he leaned over and whispered, “But I can scent your desire for me.”

Before she could speak he kissed her savagely, rubbing against her core in the most delicious of ways until she felt half mad with desire. He kissed along her jaw to whisper in her ear, “Tell me now if you wish me to stop, if you have some limit, else I will take you this night, over and over.”

“Don't stop,” said before she thought, fear and desire having fought and desire just barely winning. What she wanted, to feel him inside her, to feel the stretch of him inside her, so long, it had been so long and she wanted to feel so very much.

He kissed down her body, until he was between her legs, drawing his rough tongue over her as he slid in first one then two fingers, stretching her, preparing her for him. He curved his finger and touched some spot inside her, seemed to know just where to touch her to bring the greatest pleasure, my god, it was, she could not think it was so good. She came then, quick and hard, crying out in surprised pleasure at how fast he'd brought her already.

Again he brought her, then he licked a line up her center and shuddered between her legs, his eyes closed and face slack in a clear indication of intense satisfaction, “My Rose Red, if it were known how you tasted, sweet, your pleasure, everything in your taste, gods, I would have to fight daily for you.”

He moved up her, to hold her in his arms, shuddering against her, “I would not, will not, be a brutal selfish fae with you, I will stop should you bid me, though I, it,” he brushed the hair back from her face, “I play the human for you, my love, though I will, I may forget myself with you in passion.”

Rowan didn't want to think about that, didn't want to think at all, she just wanted him to fuck her, to feel him move inside her, to feel alive and good and not think about anything for a while. She kissed him, then bit his bottom lip, digging her nails into his back as she wrapped her legs around him and said, “Shut up and fuck me, if you're going to.”

His eyes went midnight blue, and the storm outside rose to a crescendo as he pushed her on her back and brought her hips to him, pushing himself deep inside her with a groan on pleasure, his eyes intent on her face. Such a good stretch, a good pain, then he began to move, rutting against her as he snarled down at her as he took her. She came undone for him, grabbing at the covers as her body shook uncontrollably, unbearable pleasure.

“Kiss me, I want you to kiss me, Fergal,” the distance between them too much and she wanted more than just a fuck.

His face softened and he pulled her up to sit straddling him, kissing her deeply, his hands in her hair. She moved on him, rocking her hips against him, kissing him back, then she lightly ran her nails down his back and felt him shiver. She did it harder and he bucked under her, parting to moan, “More, more my Rose.”

This time she dug her nails into him and dragged them down his back, hard, and with a shout he came inside her, thrusting up into her uncontrollably. Shivers rippled through him and Rowan felt utterly pleased to see him come undone for her so thoroughly.

“So soft but so cruel, perfect,” her murmured as he kissed her neck, “perfect.”

“I'm not cruel.”

“Hmmm..” he twisted so she could see the thick scratched down his back that were already closing and healing.

“You wanted me to do that.”

“I did. And you enjoyed it as well.”

He bit her shoulder and she gasped, “Too much!”

He chuckled, “Very well. For me it would be too little. You understand?”

“No. But I'll figure it out.”

His eyes gleamed, “Yes, I rather think you will.”


End file.
